Some wits, too, like oracles, deal in ambiguities, but not with equal success; for though ambiguities are the first excellence of an imposter, they are the last of a wit.

Time destroyed Is suicide, where more than blood is spilt.

An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave; legions of angels can't confine me there.

Men should press forward, in fame's glorious chase; Nobles look backward, and so lose the race.

Nature delights in progress; in advance.

We wish our names eternally to live; Wild dream! which ne'er had haunted human thought, Had not our natures been eternal too.

Nothing in Nature, much less conscious being, Was e'er created solely for itself.